


Opponents

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Aggression, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Inline with canon, M/M, No Aftercare, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1834483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There’s the click of the deadbolt being thrown, and Kise’s stomach swoops wildly in response to this confirmation even before he lifts his head and blinks his gaze into focus on Aomine’s dark gaze." Aomine and Kise catch up after the Summer Tournament.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opponents

Kise is more than half-expecting the bathroom door to open when it does. He’s bent over a sink, splashing water onto his face and hoping his legs will keep supporting him, and for the moment before he opens his eyes there are a handful of options for the newcomer. Then there’s the click of the deadbolt being thrown, and Kise’s stomach swoops wildly in response to this confirmation even before he lifts his head and blinks his gaze into focus on Aomine’s dark gaze.

“Kise,” the other boy says. Even in the mirror his approach freezes Kise where he stands. Aomine moves like a cat, lean grace and efficient muscle, and Kise feels uncomfortably like a mouse when Aomine’s eyes meet his in the reflection. The other boy comes forward, keeps coming, and when he reaches out to push his fingers up through the hair at the back of Kise’s neck it underlines what the locked door is already saying. “You played well.”

It would be a compliment worth savouring if Aomine didn’t deliver it with condescension dripping off his words. But his fingers are digging into Kise’s scalp, pressing pleasant sensation against his skin, and the blond dips his head in submission before he says, “Not as well as you,” with much less fire than he would have otherwise.

“You should know by now that’s a given.” Aomine is smiling, Kise can hear the razor of amusement under his words. “But then that’s what keeps you from giving up, isn’t it? That you always think  _this_  time you might win.” Fingers press into Kise’s hip. He doesn’t lift his head or open his eyes, granting permission via silence, and Aomine’s hand shoves the hem of his jersey up so the other boy’s fingers can slide over the cooling sweat still coating Kise’s skin.

“I always try, Aominecchi,” Kise says. His voice is shaking a little and he doesn’t bother trying to control it. Aomine’s hands are on him, after all, the same familiar long fingers and well-worn calluses he has always had, and his shaking isn’t just from exhaustion, now.

“You do.” That sounds nearly affectionate. There’s a press up against Kise’s back, Aomine stepping in to push the blond up against the edge of the sink, and when the other boy speaks again his voice is blowing warm against the back of Kise’s ear. “Your senpai seems very fond of you.”

“Mm.” Kise hums noncommittally but it doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t work. Aomine leans in closer, his hand under Kise’s jersey slides up higher.

“Do you let him fuck you?” He’s purring, now, Kise can feel the rumble under his words straight through the contact with his back. It shouldn’t be a turn-on, the words in Aomine’s voice about someone else, but Kise is shaking so badly now he doesn’t think he can keep his feet unassisted much longer. Aomine’s hand comes back down, past the loose elastic of Kise’s shorts, this time, so the other boy can close his hand into a grip against the blond’s hip.

“Do you bend over for him, Kise?” It’s not jealousy as much as amusement, though Aomine’s fingers are starting to go painful with how hard he’s holding Kise. “Are you a good underclassman for your doting senpai?”

Kise can’t remember how to talk. He shakes his head, at least, quick and jerky, and apparently that’s the right answer because Aomine  _purrs_ , pulls Kise back against him by his hold on the blond’s hip so they’re pressed together from knees to shoulders.

“You fuck him?” Aomine guesses, and Kise doesn’t bother to deny it. “Mm. Not what I would have suspected but if it works, I guess.” He rocks forward against Kise, thrusting his hips forward so the blond can feel the shape of the other’s length through their clothes. “Did you copy that from me too?”

Kise laughs, not sure if he intends it as a denial or confirmation, and Aomine grins at him in the mirror. His teeth are very white against the tan of his skin; Kise can feel his eyes going out-of-focus with heat just looking at them, can feel the way his throat works on an involuntary swallow. Aomine’s hand at his hip slides down farther under the fabric so the other boy can dig his fingers in against Kise’s thigh, which isn’t where the blond  _wants_  his hand but is close enough that his cock jumps to full attention. It’s clear in the reflection in front of them, or would be if Kise could look away from Aomine’s face; as it is he is trapped by those teeth and those eyes, the trickle of sweat along the other’s collarbone, so he can’t turn away and he can’t blink, even when Aomine’s right hand hooks around the top of his shorts and pushes down.

“As long as I’m the only one who gets to fuck you,” Aomine says, still smiling that sharp white smile, and when his fingers slide down against Kise’s ass the blond shudders and finally blinks.

“Aominecchi --” he starts. “I --”

“What is it?” Aomine asks. His hand moves away but only for a moment; his grip against Kise’s thigh is still steady. Kise thinks that might be the only thing holding him upright, at this point. The fingers of his right hand come up and Aomine slides them into his mouth, licking over the skin more ostentatiously than is necessary. Kise doesn’t mind, can’t even pretend to mind, not with the total lack of disguise his current clothing gives his arousal.

He doesn’t remember that he was speaking until Aomine pulls his fingers free and brings them back down to their original location. They’re warm from his mouth and wet with saliva, and Kise rocks back against the contact without even thinking about it.

“I’m not sure I can --” he starts again, and one of Aomine’s fingers pushes up into him and the pressure is more than he can think through for a moment. He shudders again, whines a high sound of protest and encouragement at once. Aomine growls; when Kise opens his eyes from that first instinctive reaction the other boy is glaring at him in their reflections.

“Shut up, Kise,” he hisses. He twists his wrist, works his finger in farther as he keeps speaking, which doesn’t do a lot for Kise’s attention though the blond is  _trying_  to pay attention. “Someone will hear you if you’re too loud and then they’ll start wondering why the door’s locked. Do you  _want_  everyone to know you like fucking your opponents?”

Kise groans, gasps, manages to get a breath in spite of the steady movement of Aomine’s finger inside him. “Just -- just you, Aominecchi.” He drawls the nickname extra-long, turning it into an endearment beyond the casual word itself, and Aomine laughs instead of frowning.

“I can feel that,” he offers instead, shifting his hand so Kise’s breath goes and the blond is panting for air for a desperate minute. “You’re so fucking tight, I didn’t think you’d save yourself for me like this.”

Kise dips his head -- it’s too hard to keep watching Aomine’s face -- and uses the gasp of air in his lungs to delay so he can change the subject with some subtlety. “I’m not -- going to be able to keep my feet, like this.”

“Yeah, I can feel you shaking already.” Aomine presses in closer again, for a moment, until his mouth is pressed against the back of Kise’s neck. “Just brace yourself on the mirror. I’ll keep you steady and I’ll have a free hand in a minute.”

He says it calmly, with no sense of the import of the words, but if Aomine is inured to the implications Kise certainly isn’t. He shudders, in anticipation this time for all that Aomine’s finger alone is almost too much with the minimal lubrication, and when the other boy pulls back so he can thrust back in Kise relaxes into it. It takes a bit to remember but he has it now, the counterintuitive give to the other’s take, and Aomine hums in appreciation against his skin and pushes his hand in a little deeper and a little harder.

With the friction of Aomine’s finger against him it takes Kise a moment to think through the mechanics of what they’re about to do, another second to convince himself it’s worth worrying about, but obviously  _he’s_  sleeping with other people and if Aomine is --

“Aominecchi,” he says, or tries to say. It comes out a little too frayed to be anything other than a moan, for all that it’s quiet enough that no one outside the bathroom should be able to hear it.

Aomine doesn’t answer aloud, but he curls his finger to press in right where Kise wants pressure -- the other boy hasn’t forgotten that move in the last few months, at least -- and Kise takes that as a response, at least once he can catch his breath from the involuntary mewling whine this pulls from him.

“Do you -- did you bring a condom?” he manages to ask once Aomine draws his finger free and brings his hand to his mouth so he can lick up against his middle finger. He’s still watching Kise in the mirror; his grin hasn’t faltered through the blond’s reactions, and when he brings his fingers back down to shove two together back into Kise there’s a flicker of additional amusement the blond sees before he drops his head again and takes a strangled gasp of air.

“Of course I did,” Aomine’s voice cuts in over the panting sound of Kise’s own breathing. The blond hears the words and understands them a moment later, as his brain struggles to pay attention to anything other than the pressure of the other’s fingers inside him. Experience is getting his body to relax without thought, which is for the best in all as he can barely remember to breathe without active processing of the steps necessary. Still, once his mind catches up to the other boy’s words his next exhale is a sigh of relief, and he only manages a “Oh good,” before giving up all his deliberate attention to the effort of holding back the sound in his throat.

Aomine’s talking, still -- “You really are tight, you’ll have to tell me if I hurt you,” -- but the sound of his voice is becoming a shuddery background and Kise doesn’t bother to respond beyond a shake of his head. Aomine laughs over his shoulder, twists his wrist, and Kise gasps and nearly falls before the other boy catches some of his weight to keep him steady on his feet. Kise shifts one hand up to the wall, braces himself with the strength of his shoulder, and that helps, a little. Aomine’s fingers are digging into his hip, they’re going to leave bruises later but right now it doesn’t even hurt, all Kise is aware of is that it’s taking both his hands and one of Aomine’s to keep him on his feet and he’s so hard he thinks he might be able to get off if he just rocks forward against the edge of the sink in front of him.

He doesn’t. What he does is take a desperate breath, say, “Aominecchi,  _please_.” He doesn’t specify -- he doesn’t need to, he can hear Aomine’s shadowed laugh from over his shoulder even before the other boy’s fingers slide out of him, taking sensation with them and sending chills of anticipation over Kise’s skin.

“Hang on.” It’s a demand, an order Aomine expects to be obeyed instead of a request, and Kise doesn’t protest, doesn’t even shift his hand to push his shorts free; he keeps his right hand flat on the wall, his head pressed against his left arm, tries to catch his breath and tries to not listen to the promising crinkle of plastic and foil behind him, tries to breathe normally when he hears Aomine hiss at the contact of his fingers against himself. The fingers at his hip vanish for a moment; with his arm up against the wall Kise’s in no danger of falling, but then Aomine grabs the edge of his shorts and pushes the cloth free of his hips, and the resultant rush of adrenaline nearly brings the blond to his knees.

“You’re going to pieces,” Aomine observes. Kise steadies himself, lifts his head again so he can see Aomine’s grin in the reflection. He’s holding the other’s dark gaze when the hand comes back to his hip to hold him steady, and Kise knows what’s coming next even before Aomine spits into his palm and reaches down to stroke over himself. Kise can’t see the movement of his hand but he can see the other boy’s shoulder working, can see the glaze of anticipation starting to settle into Aomine’s eyes, and by the time the second hand comes down to lock him in place Kise’s gaze is just as hazy as Aomine’s. He thinks about speaking, about letting the sound of Aomine’s name drag itself into a moan as the other moves; but Aomine was right, he needs to stay relatively quiet, so instead Kise bites his lip and waits for the flood of initial sensation.

Aomine doesn’t keep him waiting long. The other boy looks down at what he’s doing, makes some sound of frustrated anticipation, and his cock bumps up against Kise for just a moment; then he’s there, lined up and thrusting forward, and it is a good thing Kise has his lip between his teeth because even with that precaution he makes a wailing noise as Aomine pushes into him. It’s almost too much; Aomine never was very patient about preparation, and the circumstances are far from ideal, and even the lubrication on the condom itself is minimal. Kise’s legs are trembling and his arms are starting to shake now, too, and the wave of exhaustion and prickle of almost-pain is starting to make this feel like a really spectacularly bad idea, he can’t remember why this seemed like a good call originally.

Then Aomine’s hand leaves his hip, and before Kise has a chance to protest the loss of stabilization the other boy’s fingers are fumbling out a grip on his length, and he remembers all at once.

“Aominecchi,” he gasps, dropping into an odd stage whisper in an attempt to muffle the sound. It still comes out strained and desperate, enough that Aomine laughs as he pushes in deeper as he starts to stroke up over Kise’s cock.

“That’s my name,” he agrees. Kise’s body is sparking sensation wildly over his skin, the pull of Aomine inside him blending with the rush of the other’s breath against his neck, the drag of fingers on his length somehow turning into a single sensation with the spreading numbness from his head against his wrist. “Did you miss me, Kise?”

“I did,” Kise admits instantly, making no attempt to deny it. “I missed playing against you, and I missed touching you, and I --” He cuts off as Aomine strokes out-of-time and too quick, slicks his thumb hard over the head of the blond’s cock and all the air tries to leave Kise’s lungs at once.

“I missed fucking you,” Aomine purrs against the back of his neck. He pulls back, thrusts in again faster than his first stroke, and this time he very nearly hits where Kise wants him, close enough that the blond’s thoughts scatter into fragments and Kise doesn’t even try to answer. “I love the way you look when I beat you, the way you don’t stop fighting until the very last buzzer.” He pushes in again, harder and faster still, and this time he hits home, forces a groan of appreciation from Kise’s throat. “You’re beautiful when you’re desperate, out there or like this, it doesn’t matter.” His movements are finding a rhythm, the motion of his hand unpredictable and erratic but his thrusts perfectly even, and Kise can’t keep his feet alone much less resist the rocking movement Aomine is establishing for him. It feels better to give it to it, too, to let Aomine fuck into him and jerk him off at the other boy’s pace, so all Kise has to do is cling to the wall and try to turn his moans into half-muffled panting instead.

There’s pressure against the back of his neck, just above the sweat-damp line of his jersey; Aomine’s mouth, an open-mouthed kiss and a lick along the top of Kise’s spine. The blond shudders, almost falls, and Aomine tightens his hold on the other boy’s hip.

“Don’t,” he says, sure of being obeyed even though his voice is starting to stretch thin with reaction. “Keep on your feet, Kise, don’t collapse on me yet.”

Kise’s knees are shaking, he can feel his thighs trembling uncontrollably and he’s pretty sure his calves are going to cramp up in a minute, but he stays upright for a second, another, and he can feel Aomine’s fingers pushing him towards the edge faster than he expected and all he has to do it make it there, that’s all it takes, just another second, just another minute, it’s right --

The lips against his neck turn into teeth, scrape over the bones of his spine, and Aomine groans against Kise’s skin and rocks up hard, fast and deep and desperate. Kise can feel the shiver of orgasm run through the other boy, imagines wildly that he can feel the pulse of pleasure inside him, and his vision is starting to go even before Aomine shoves him up against the edge of the sink and starts jerking him off in earnest, like he always does, fast and hard and messy. Under the motion Kise comes like he always does, shaking and breathless and  _hard_ , shuddering and gasping while the wave of sensation breaks over him and he wonders if he’ll just pass out, collapse right here and never move again.

He keeps his feet, even through that, though he’s not quite sure how. It’s  been some unmeasured period of time when he blinks back into focus, and he’s still upright and still pressed up against the fogged mirror and the edge of the sink. It doesn’t even look like they broke anything.

“God, Kise,” Aomine says against his neck. There’s a pull over too-sensitive nerve endings, sharp enough to make Kise flinch and hiss, and Aomine slides free, though he keeps his hand on the blond’s hip. “You really are a great opponent.”

“I’ll beat you someday,” Kise says weakly against the mirror. Aomine’s hand leaves his hip and he lets himself fold to the tiles, bumping his knees painfully on the floor but too exhausted and shaky to slow his descent to anything but a slow fall. Aomine laughs, still on his feet; Kise takes a breath, and twists around to look up at the other boy without taking on the impossible challenge of standing again. “I swear. I’m not going to give up. And someday I’m going to beat you.”

Aomine looks down at him. The light is behind his head, casting his face in shadow and half-blinding Kise, but for just a moment the blond thinks there might be a flicker of a frown against his mouth, a momentary softness in his eyes.

“I hope you do,” he says. He sounds sincere, more sincere than Kise has ever heard him. Then he turns, and whatever softness was there is hidden by the line of his jaw from Kise’s view.

“Clean yourself up,” he says without turning back around. He’s suiting his own actions to his words, though he’s doing so with more grace than Kise can currently manage. “I’ll tell someone you collapsed and they’ll come in here to take care of you.”

“Don’t bother,” Kise says. “I’ll be fine. And if I’m not someone will come looking for me after not too long.” He drags his shorts back into place, shifts his weight around so he can lean against the wall and watch Aomine move towards the door. The other boy doesn’t speak; for a moment Kise’s not going to either. But then affection or sentimentality gets the best of him, and he says, “Until next time?” before he can stop the sentence from surging up into a plaintive question.

Aomine pauses with his hand on the deadbolt. He doesn’t turn, only hesitates in his answer, and when he speaks Kise can’t see his face. But he can hear the smile under the words, can pick out the hint of almost-softness in the syllables, and it’s enough, as it is always enough.

“Until next time.”


End file.
